Speechless

by Adam P. Schmitt

  The class met each morning for a few hours at a local park. The first day I remember feeling out of place for not crying when Mom dropped me off. One boy with red hair and mismatched socks was sobbing and lasted only a few minutes before his mom gave up and took him home. Another kid cried through the first half of the morning. I’ve never understood why kids cry when their parents leave. I’ve always looked forward to the freedom.

  A couple of high-school boys wearing matching red shirts with an outline of a bear on the front were the camp leaders. They were both named Zack and towered over our group of boys sitting cross-legged on the wet grass. Within a few minutes of starting, three of us had asked about the wild animals. The Zacks said we would see the animals tomorrow. We spent the rest of the morning talking about birds, which to me weren’t very wild. We each had to find a pinecone, and even though we all found one right away, the Zacks spent the next hour telling us to “keep looking for better ones” while they sat on a bench talking. They showed us how to smear peanut butter on them and dip them in birdseed.

  I didn’t find it dangerous, but one boy did.

  A freckly kid named Noah wouldn’t touch the supplies. He kept his distance from the table containing the birdseed and peanut butter. He started shaking his head, saying, “I can’t! I can’t touch it!” until the Zacks gave up and told him he could just watch. He calmed down a bit and sat behind the rest of us while we finished our feeders. The Zack wearing glasses tried to get the group back together.

  “Now you can attract and feed any kind of dangerous birds in the wild,” he said with a halfhearted smile.

  The pinecone bird feeders concluded day one of dangerous-animals camp. I feared the rest of the week would bring the same level of excitement. As we drove off that first day, I could see the Zacks talking, the shorter one shrugging with his hands up. They didn’t seem too worried about making the camp more adventurous. Not sure they cared.

  The morning of day two did bring a level of excitement. Just not the kind I wanted.

  “Why is Patrick here?”

  “Stop. It’ll be fine,” Mom assured me as she pulled in next to my aunt’s car. “Aunt Rose thought this would be good for Patrick, and they let him join late. So just be nice to him.”

  “Why did you tell her about it?” I asked in hysterics, suddenly dreading the day ahead.

  The week before, Patrick broke my scooter by trying to see how high he could jump it. He never said sorry. Aunt Rose did, but he didn’t.

  “This sucks” came out of my mouth without my realizing it.

  “Jimmy! Enough with the language!”

  “I . . . I didn’t mean it.”

  That was the truth. I didn’t realize a bad word came out. Didn’t matter.

  “Choose better words or we’re going back home.”

  Mom hates swearing and considers “sucks” swearing. It’s the quickest way for me to get in trouble. I hadn’t meant to say it, but when she told me Patrick was joining camp, it just slipped out.

  “Sorry,” I said shamefully.

  “He doesn’t know anyone here, so you need to be nice,” she reminded me again as we waited for Aunt Rose to finish talking to the Zacks. I wasn’t the one who needed to be nice; she knew that. I stewed, knowing I had no options, while my aunt prepped the Zacks. Aunt Rose never just dropped Patrick off anywhere without giving the host a talk about his “free spirit.”

  My arms crossed on their own while I started imagining the week ahead. I was already questioning if any dangerous animals were happening this week. Now I would have to spend it with one. I huffed out of the car and took a seat with the rest of the Explorers.

  Patrick spotted me and waved with his arm straight out and only his hand moving. He was acting like he hadn’t broken my scooter a week ago. I’d have to wait until my birthday to get a new one, and he didn’t care. I forced a wave back, not saying a word as he plopped down next to me.

  The Zacks stood in front of us with a stack of white paper, boxes of crayons, and a worn backpack on the picnic table. I hoped there was something scratching to get out of that bag, but it sat quietly. Zack with Glasses spoke first.

  “OK, Explorers, we have an adventure for you today. An adventure that will take us into the woods,” he said while sweeping his free arm in the direction of the wooded area to his left. His other hand held his coffee. “We are going exploring on a secret mission.” This last part he said in a quieter voice as he hunched down.

  Secret? I was getting interested. Short Zack took over.

  “Explorers, we are going deep into the forest. We need to be careful, be alert, and stay together because of the many dangerous animals lurking in the trees,” he exclaimed while making a claw with his hand. We were more intrigued now but still not sure there would be any danger for us.

  Junior Explorers was held at Washington Park. It’s one of Harper’s larger parks — a few minutes from home and a place every boy in the group knew well. While it does have a wooded area, it isn’t something you would call a forest by any stretch. Washington Park has been known to host birthday parties, cookouts, and various other family events. All of which involve kids running through the small patch of woods. We were all familiar with them and had never seen anything more dangerous than a ground squirrel.

  Zack with Glasses grabbed the items from the table. He set his coffee down and held up the paper in one hand, the crayons in the other. “Your mission today, Explorers, is to find the perfect leaf.”

  All the seven-year-olds groaned in unison.

  Leaf rubbings. Every one of us had done countless leaf rubbings since kindergarten. We all knew the routine.

  1. Find a leaf.

  2. Place it under white paper.

  3. Rub the crayon on its side over the paper.

  It seemed like anytime the weather was nice, we did leaf rubbings. Anytime the teacher was in a bad mood . . . leaf rubbings. It was a rite of passage for kindergartners in the town of Harper to do at least six leaf rubbings before you could move on to grade school.

  “Do we have to?” Patrick interjected. His personality had moments of usefulness.

  “Well”— Zack with Glasses paused, thinking of his sales pitch — “you don’t have to. But . . .” He knew we were on to him. Short Zack had come prepared, though. He reached for the backpack.

  “This mission has a reward. The reward is in this bag. So if you don’t complete the mission, you don’t get the reward.” He dumped the contents on the table in dramatic fashion. A heap of Fun Size Snickers lay in a pile for us to drool over. We were all on our knees, inching toward the prize.

  All except Noah.

  “I can’t have Snickers. . . . I’ll die if I do. I can’t be around peanuts,” he said with a squeak in his voice. Each of us showed the empathy of a seven-year-old boy by exclaiming how we would eat it for him.

  “Then don’t eat it,” Short Zack told him as if he had ruined the party. He stuck his hand into the pile and pulled out the crown jewel of the group — a full-size Snickers bar. It rose above the Fun Sizes like a giant among men.

  “Whoever gets the perfect leaf sketch gets the grand prize,” he said while holding up the trophy we all coveted. “We’re going to explore the woods for an hour and give everybody a chance to find their leaf. Then we’ll do our rubbings, and Mr. Zack and I will judge who captured the perfect leaf.”

  We all stood up, with renewed energy at the thought of winning the grand prize, and formed the single-file line we’d practiced the day before. The Zacks took us into the woods, where we scoured the ground and trees for the perfect leaf. There were no wild animals, no sense of being in danger. Didn’t matter. There was a chance to get a full-size Snickers bar, and that was enough to motivate us.

  We walked the trail of Washington Park Woods in search of the perfect leaf. Then a second time. And a third. The Zacks stayed up front while each of us searched with the fear that someone else would spot the perfect leaf before we did. Patrick was particularly good at
hearing someone say they found one and pouncing before they could reach it. He hadn’t stopped talking since the candy-bar display. Patrick was easily excited by anything with sugar.

  The Zacks told us to get three leaves each, which most of us did in the first pass. Then Zack with Glasses said to keep looking. According to him, we missed some good ones and needed to go back through the woods again.

  We returned to the picnic table armed with our findings, each of us eager to prove we had the perfect leaf. Zack with Glasses gave us paper while Short Zack placed boxes of crayons among us. We worked diligently, placing our naked crayons sideways while carefully rubbing the paper. It took surgical precision to apply the right amount of pressure to get the structure of the leaf without the color overwhelming it. I was quite skilled at this and liked my odds.

  After a few minutes, we set our creations in front of us while the Zacks came by for inspection. They spoke quietly for a moment as we waited with our hands on our knees. I had no idea what the criteria was for a perfect leaf, but I thought my chances were good enough to take home the grand prize.

  “All right, boys, you each did a great job. Mr. Zack and I talked it over and we have a winner,” Short Zack said while displaying the Snickers bar that would require both our tiny hands to hold. Patrick was rocking with anticipation as he bit his lip, hoping to hear his name. Patrick liked candy, a lot.

  “The winner of the perfect leaf exploration . . .”

  Each of us leaned forward.

  “Is . . .”

  We leaned farther forward, gripping our knees, with craned necks.

  Short Zack paused until we almost tipped over. Our eyes widened and our hearts pleaded with him to call our name. He inhaled and released the winner.

  “Jimmy!”

  Clenched fists and painful grimaces. That’s how seven-year-old boys show sportsmanship.

  My grin was ear to ear as I stood up to accept my prize. I had no idea how they decided what made the best leaf, but I didn’t care. The giant Snickers bar was mine. I had big plans for it, too. I would eat some of it that night after dinner and put the rest in the freezer for tomorrow.

  I went back to my seat while Zack with Glasses walked around our circle giving the rest of the boys the consolation-size Snickers. Except for Noah; he sat on his hands when Zack with Glasses offered him the treat.

  Patrick looked at my prize with envious eyes. I gripped it tightly. He would not ruin this for me. Even before he received his treat, he asked with frustration in his voice, “Can we eat it now? We can eat it now, right? You never said we have to wait, so we should just be able to eat it now!”

  He was talking fast. Like happy-energy fast. He talked fast last week after he saw my new scooter. Right before he broke it. I hoped the Zacks wouldn’t take their eyes off him.

  Short Zack was gathering up all the supplies from the morning and responded, “Eat up.” The Zacks started talking about something a few feet away while putting all the crayons back in the boxes.

  “Wait,” Patrick said while holding his hand in the center of our circle as if there were an imaginary button to press in the middle. “I have an idea.”

  I found my shoulders leaning away from the circle of my fellow Explorers. None of the other boys knew Patrick. They didn’t know what his ideas were like.

  I knew. Just like I knew he’d made sure the Zacks were turned around before he said anything, I knew Patrick’s idea meant someone was going to be in tears very soon.

  “We need to eat these like real explorers.” He looked at me with his aggressive eyes. “One bite. We all get one bite and that’s it.” There was a hostility in his voice that could intimidate kids who didn’t know him. He had a way of commanding an audience.

  Sounded simple enough: eat your Snickers by shoving the whole thing in your mouth. If you didn’t, then you were a wimp. I was pretty sure real explorers from old times didn’t eat this way — very sure they didn’t have Snickers with them, either. It was no use arguing, though. The boys nodded and were willing to try it.

  All but two: Noah, who had nothing, and me. Patrick ignored Noah and focused on me.

  “Since you won, you have to take the biggest bite.” This was Patrick being Patrick, creating a masterful plan to destroy something good that happened to me. I wanted no part of it.

  I looked to the Zacks. They were still turned toward the parking lot, knowing we animals had been fed and would be fine unsupervised. I was on my own.

  “No, I’m saving mine.” It came out sheepishly.

  My response was met with an onslaught of disapproval. I think every one of them was still mad they didn’t win and wanted to see my victory ruined. The candy bar sat in my hand while I wondered how it could possibly fit in my mouth.

  Patrick unwrapped his Fun Size.

  “I’ll go first. Watch.” He shoved the small block into his mouth and choked it down before he had a chance to enjoy it.

  “Now you go.” He pointed to the boy on the other side of him while still swallowing chocolate. The boy followed orders by unwrapping and shoving his entire Fun Size in his mouth. Patrick had a way of making himself the referee in his own competitions.

  The game continued around the circle, skipped Noah, and then reached me. I had no choice but to play.

  “You have to do it now,” Patrick reminded me.

  I reluctantly unwrapped my prize and saw it reach from my palm to beyond the tips of my outstretched fingers. I couldn’t imagine it fitting in my mouth. The boys all watched eagerly to see me fail. They knew just as well as I did that it wouldn’t work.

  “Go on! You can fit it in. Come on. . . . One bite!” Patrick said with the angry energy taking over his voice.

  My mouth opened wide. My hand went for it.

  I shoved one end into my cheek, as far as it could stretch. I figured it would choke me if the bar was forced straight back, so I tried to go sideways, like a bow tie for my teeth. Push and push again, and now a third effort.

  I couldn’t believe it. The entire Snickers bar actually fit. My mouth was two inches away from being able to close, and my cheeks were wider than my head, but I did it. I got a candy bar bigger than my hand into my mouth. The other boys leaned back where they sat, unable to hide their impressed expressions.

  All but one. Noah looked like he saw something the rest of us didn’t.

  The moment of achievement lasted about two seconds. Then I realized I couldn’t swallow. I coughed, hoping I would hack the candy bar out. No, it only made things worse. My tongue moved in every direction, trying to pry the bar out, but I grew more frantic as the massive block sat wedged firmly in my mouth.

  I coughed again. It only caused me to lose my breath. There was nothing in my throat, but I still couldn’t control the functions of my mouth. It sent the rest of me into frenzied movements.

  A tiny drop of spit hit the back of my throat.

  Panic set in.

  I stood up, clawing at my cheeks, as if that would loosen the bar, while my midsection bobbed up and down. I felt my eyes water and heard “He’s choking!” come from one of the boys. I fell on my knees, coughing furiously, facing the ground.

  I thought it was the end.

  A hand grabbed me. One of the Zacks heard me.

  Short Zack placed one hand on my shoulder to stand me up straight. I was wrong when I thought the candy bar was too big to fit in my mouth, and I was wrong when I thought Short Zack’s hand was too big to retrieve it. His fingers struck like a cobra, too fast for me to see it or know what he was doing. One swift motion — that’s all it took.

  I didn’t realize it had happened until I saw the chocolate block in his hand. He held it in front of me for a second — I think to reassure me that it was out of my mouth and I could breathe again. His hand never left my shoulder as he threw the Snickers to the ground and turned to his side.

  “Thanks, Noah. Good work,” he said as the freckly Explorer looked at me with concern. Noah had been here before. He was no stranger
to someone reacting after putting something bad in their mouth. “You OK, Jimmy?” Short Zack asked.

  I wasn’t OK.

  I couldn’t speak.

  I was crying.

  I nodded anyway.

  The Zacks had no idea Patrick had orchestrated the whole thing. They just thought I was a dumb animal trying to put big objects in my mouth. I pulled myself together as best I could before the parents arrived. I hoped the Zacks wouldn’t say anything to Mom.

  They gave us our leaf rubbings, and we walked to the parking lot as our moms were pulling up. Patrick quickly got into Aunt Rose’s car without even looking back. Short Zack talked to Mom, since my red face couldn’t hide that I’d been crying.

  He gave her the short version, but it was enough to make her furious with me. I didn’t tell her the long version, the Patrick version. It would have only made things worse.

  It was all my fault anyway. I was the one who shoved a brick of chocolate in my mouth. I was the one trying to not look like a wimp in front of everyone.

  I was the one who did what Patrick told me to.

  I promised myself to never listen to him again.

  When you walk into a funeral home, this feeling happens. It’s like when you walk into church . . . but scarier. You don’t want to touch anything, you have to be quiet, and there are men in suits walking around watching you. It’s like a boring museum, with tissue boxes every ten feet.

  I don’t know if sitting down at a wake is rude, so I do it before anyone arrives. One side of the room has a couple of large high-back chairs, while a couch is centered toward the back. I choose the more comfortable-looking couch, and my pants immediately remind me that I was better off standing.

  Mom and Dad are still going over things with Marty in his office.

  So it’s just me and Patrick.

  And silence.

  And time.

  I scan the room again for anything interesting. I don’t want to look at the pictures of Patrick. I wish they had magazines, anything to distract me. The walls are bare of any art or decorations. Maybe it’s too hard to pick out paintings that pair nicely with corpses.